Tea and Biscuits While Ottosland Burns
by vilyasthrall
Summary: Sir Alec and Sir Ralph have a discussion over dinner. Pre-Accidental Sorcerer oneshot.


**Tea and Biscuits while Ottosland Burns**

by Vilyasthrall

Disclaimer: I do not own the characters or setting. K E Mills does. 

"So, Alec. How are you getting along with your department?"

He looked up at the diplomat and shrugged. "As well as can be expected, Ralph," he replied blandly. "I don't like some of the equipment we're receiving from R&D or its standard of build, but it does the job."

Ralph Markham nodded seriously and they both returned their attention to their respective meals, mulling over their individual agendas. In truth, they both knew their departments had little in common, and Sir Ralph often questioned his motivations for continuing these meetings. However, sometimes, just sometimes, they paid off by hugely impacting the running of Ott. That was enough for him. For both of them.

"And you?" he asked after a suitable pause had elapsed.

"Well enough," Ralph replied humourlessly. "Well, to be honest," he added, "we're undermanned and overstretched. Something Attaby's diplomatically blind to."

Sir Alec nodded in agreement, delicately impaling some lettuce. "Much the same, I fear," he replied. "With us. With all the departments. Something of an occupational hazard of the diplomatic process, I've noticed."

Sir Ralph forced himself to watch his own plate. Unfortunately for his appetite, watching the shady agent eating was something akin to an entertainment in its own right. All his blacked-out and censored emotions seemed to leak out as he massacred whole dishes of food. And somehow, he still managed to do it perfectly politely, too!

"So," Ralph said in the pause created by the necessity that Alec chew his mouthful of food before continuing, "rather cold today, isn't it?"

"No," was the immediate response. "It's too damn warm."

Ah, the other delightful quirk of Alec's. If he wasn't talking about something that required him to be the perfect diplomat, he told you exactly what he thought; he was truthful and direct, whatever social norms might expect.

It was refreshing, to say the least, Sir Ralph decided, but all he could say was that he was glad he didn't work with Alec. Whenever his colleague lowered his guard, he had to raise his own.

"At least it's not raining," Ralph ventured.

Of course, he knew he was privileged that the man trusted him enough to lower his guard, but sometimes it was too much like hard work to avoid offending him.

Which, it appeared, he had inadvertently done here. Sir Alec harrumphed- a sound Ralph had never heard from anyone else- it was accompanied by a subtle shift in posture, a neck extension and an aggressive bite of carrot. Somehow, it all combined together into an expressive symphony indicating displeasure.

That sounded like 'harrumph' would.

In short, it meant Sir Alec did not agree.

He tried again. "I see your janitor Johnathan's taken my irascible brother's reprobate son under his wing. Would you pass along the advice that if the boy disobeys me _one _more time, I'll have him stripped of components and shipped off to New Ottosland?"

Sir Alec raised an eyebrow and he actually looked up from his plate. "It would be my pleasure," he said, emphasising the point by raising his fork.

"He's been giving you trouble?" Sir Ralph asked sympathetically.

"Indeed," replied Sir Alec. "You've heard about the level one incursion alert?"

"Yes. A fault, wasn't it?"

"Your _reprobate_ nephew was 'testing the system,'" Sir Alec replied testily. "Said he didn't realise the trouble it would cause, and you know Ralph, I really do believe him. But…"

Ralph nodded in resigned agreement. "I know," he said. "Believe me, I know."

They both sighed at the same time. The young Markham's genius was fast becoming legendary, but so was his irritating naivety.

"And your new project, Alec?" Ralph ventured. He took a sip of his wine.

Sir Alec countered him with a swig of whisky. "Successful," he said. "It shows the promise of being a very useful incant, as long as it stays in the right hands."

"Yes," Sir Ralph agreed noncommittally. "It does."

In the privacy of his mind, though, Ralph Markham raged. Shadbolt proofing! It would change the whole balance of power between the law-keepers and criminal classes. And Monk, damn him, had left the document lying around on the drinks trolley of his parent's home, where almost everyone in Ott who mattered visited, for _anyone_ to read.

It'd only been luck it was his uncle who'd found it and not someone like Aylesbury.

Smug Sir Alec was, of course, aware it was Sir Ralph who had brought that little incant to the government's attention, Ralph was sure. But if the bastard did know, he wasn't saying. Was it too much to ask for a detailed report of its trial?

Ralph shook his head in disgust, and Alec got that almost-smile on his face that signified wry humour. "To the Markhams," he said, raising his glass genially. "May they protect us against their family's eccentricities for many years to come."

Ralph just managed to reign in his own laughter at that little speech and favoured Sir Alec with a look of disgruntled annoyance. Then he raised his own glass. "To Ott," he responded. "May the country ever reign over us."

The snarky bugger revealed the edges of his well-concealed smirk and lifted his glass to complete the time-honoured toast with a worrying sincerity.

"Too Ott," he echoed. "May she ever be protected from harm."


End file.
